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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25740958">to feel awake when my eyes are open</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingoodsugar/pseuds/lookingoodsugar'>lookingoodsugar</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>T@gged (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Depression, M/M, and the car scene, but there was no tequila involved, mentions of alcohol and alcoholism, that night</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:34:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,941</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25740958</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingoodsugar/pseuds/lookingoodsugar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>what tequila?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Trevor Askill/Brandon Darrow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>to feel awake when my eyes are open</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonewaiis/gifts">stonewaiis</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangstopatronum/gifts">sangstopatronum</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>tw for depression and alcoholism after the section break</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It starts with his knee touching Brandon's. Trevor doesn't realise it yet until there's nothing left in the world but this. His knee against Brandon's. Suddenly, he can't breathe, he can't think, he can't do anything but try to stifle down the blood pumping in his ears. His mind is screaming. I want. I want. I want.</p><p>I want what? More. More of the knee, more skin on skin, more hair in hand and lips on lips. More.</p><p>It feels like the room starts spinning and Trevor feels dizzy even though he hasn't drunk anything. He needs this to stop right now or he'll die. He also needs this to never stop. </p><p>Brandon stands up and he almost grabs his hand. He can feel his bones twitch with the wanting of it. To hold him, to keep him close. He puts his hand on his knee to finish the motion he started less weirdly. It doesn't work at all but no one notices. His eyes follow Brandon as he moves toward the kitchen. </p><p>His mind is like a choice and consequences game. Go to the kitchen. Stay seated. Follow him everywhere. Stay hidden. Tell him. Shut up forever. </p><p>He is tired of gambling his life, weighing consequences, thinking is this the end for me. All he can feel is 'my life is passing me by' and 'I don't have the courage to stand up'. </p><p>He doesn't remember anything that comes before the motion of standing. He just thinks 'I can't do it' then 'I'm doing it right now'. It seems to take hours just to rise to his feet. </p><p>Kitchen. Play it cool. Just check out what's there, hey Brandon didn't see you there, is that Coke, okay bye. </p><p>Brandon nods at Trevor when he walks in. Like, 'hey, I'm over here,' which is pointless. Trevor always knows where Brandon is. It seems his eyes cannot rest until they find him. </p><p>"T," he greets him, "what can I get you?"</p><p>Trevor's mind is blank. He suddenly can't remember anything. Brandon frowns slightly at the lack of response.<em> Jesus Christ</em>, Trevor wills himself, <em>do something, look away, for Christ's sake, now!</em></p><p>"Trevor, what do you want?"</p><p>I want. I want. I want. </p><p>
  <em>You.</em>
</p><p>"I'll have a Coke, if there's any left."</p><p>It feels stupid. He immediately regrets not asking for alcohol.</p><p>But suddenly there's something wet and freezing in his hand and the cold grounds him. He's fine. He's not dying. No one knows. He's safe.</p><p>In what feels like a mechanical way, he goes in the corridor and silently presses his forehead on the wall. </p><p>"You're welcome, prick," Brandon calls from the kitchen. </p><p>Trevor sighs and bumps his forehead twice against the plaster. Whoever made that stupid bet of not drinking through the night clearly isn't in love with their best friend. </p><p>It's fine. He can do this. He can go back to the party and pretend he doesn't want so much all the time. He's been practicing really well all his life, he should be good at it by now.</p><p>He steps in the living room. His eyes lock on Brandon immediately. 'Look away,' a part of his mind urges him. Another part replies 'I can look while no one is watching me.'</p><p>He plasters a smile on his face. It feels wobbly and untrained. His cheek twitches with effort. He sits down ungracefully, a hand on Brandon's knee, grappling to as many crumbs as he can like a starving man. Brandon holds his arm steadily. Trevor falls back into place, knee touching. Like a beggar. 'I'm tired of this,' he thinks. He thumbs the can open and takes a sip. 'I'm tired of crumbs and stolen glances and fake casual touching.'</p><p>I want more.</p><p>He's absent-mindedly fidgetting with the can opener when Brandon shifts in his seat, carelessly putting a hand on Trevor's knee. His brain short-circuits. Brandon adjusts his seating but doesn't take his hand off. Instead, he starts playing with the torn fabric of Trevor's ripped jeans. His fingers are soft on his skin. They brush lightly over the bone in circles. Trevor tries to watch whatever movie is playing on the TV, doing his best to ignore it. It's some movie he's seen before, maybe halfway through. He can't remember the plot though, but he doesn't really care.</p><p>He blankly watches the characters gesticulate on-screen, forgetting every scene after the other. Brandon talks to someone on his right, probably Nicki, but Trevor is afraid if he takes his eyes off the TV he won't be able to hide whatever mess is happening in his head. He knows Sean is asleep somewhere on a couch. Rowan and Hailey went upstairs already. Elisia is standing on his left. It's just an eliminatory guess. It keeps his brain working while the rest of him recovers from the shambles. </p><p>"Yo," someone calls. Heads snap up. Ash is standing on the doorway. "I'm going to sleep, who's coming?"</p><p>Trevor eyes the Coke in his hand. He's way too keyed up to sleep right now. Coke, or Brandon's effect.</p><p>"I'm going to finish the movie," Brandon replies, his hand stopping briefly. "T?"</p><p>Trevor blinks.</p><p>"Yeah, I'll stay too."</p><p>Ash nods. "Okay, anyone else?"</p><p>To Trevor's great surprise and glee, everyone else declines. Elisia even yawns which makes everyone yawn too. They bid the other goodnight and shift their positions to take more space.</p><p>Somewhere towards the end, or maybe still the middle, Trevor's not sure, he ends up with his head on Brandon's lap. This feels dangerous, a voice inside his brain says. This feels good, the other voice replies. Brandon absent-mindedly rakes his hand through Trevor's hair. </p><p>That's it, he thinks, I'm going to explode. </p><p>He turns away from the TV to look at Brandon's face. He is captivated by the movie. This feels safe. Is this allowed? He lulls his head for a bit, almost snuggling against Brandon's hand. And something harder. A phone. It has to be a phone. Brandon shifts awkwardly under him. Okay, not a phone. He pulls his head up. </p><p> Brandon grimaces. "Sorry."</p><p>"Don't worry, we're all human," Trevor shrugs. His blood is heating up his cheeks.</p><p>"It's the movie, sorry."</p><p>Trevor frowns. He hasn't really been following but still, he doesn't see what's very boner-inducing from the recent scenes. He just stares at the wall, hoping for his own boner to stay undiscovered.</p><p>"Actually, no," Brandon says, "I was thinking about you."</p><p>Trevor turns to him slowly. Brandon looks like he's just dropped a bomb, and in some sense he has.</p><p>"About me?"</p><p>"About your game, with the movie lines and how it makes you smile."</p><p>"You've been thinking about my smile?"</p><p>"More than your smile."</p><p>Trevor keeps scanning Brandon's face for more information. His eyes, his rosed cheeks, the scar on his upper lip. Brandon looks scared. He looks terrifyingly afraid of what he just said. He also looks down at Trevor's lips. This is a cue, right? Trevor puts a hand on his knee.</p><p>"I've been thinking about your smile and more, too," he whispers.</p><p>Brandon locks eyes with him. They edge closer.</p><p>"What more?" Brandon asks.</p><p>"Your eyes."</p><p>This feels dangerous.</p><p>"Your cheeks."</p><p>Is this allowed.</p><p>"The scar on your lip."</p><p>They're barely inches apart.</p><p>"How I want to kiss it."</p><p>He can feel Brandon's breathing on his face. Why is he winning now, when he's been losing for so long. Or rather, not playing. Why does he get to win so much? Why all at once, why now, what's the trick?</p><p>"Then do it," Brandon whispers.</p><p>And he does.</p><p>He kisses the scar then moves downward. Brandon's lips are chapped, soft. His breath is ragged, uneven. Their noses bump. They pull apart briefly.</p><p>"Nobody can know," Brandon whispers.</p><p>"They won't."</p><p>"But what if they do?"</p><p>"We'll just say it was the tequila."</p><p>'What tequila?"</p><p>
  <em>For Christ sake, just let me kiss you again! </em>
</p><p>"The one you'll blame whatever this is on if it gets out."</p><p>"You're so smart."</p><p>"Kiss me again."</p><p>And Brandon does. Somewhere in the back, Trevor's brain's still talking. Is this happening. Where's the catch. When does this end. How do I lose. But for a minute, he thinks this will be good forever. He surrenders to that thought. And it does. It feels really good.</p><p>Until it doesn't.</p><hr/><p>It feels like there's a weight on his shoulders all the time. The weight's pushing him down, to the point he's unable to eat, or do regular things, or act like a human being. He's just a shell. He walks and talks and breathes. But he doesn't feel.</p><p>The booze helps. It dulls the background noise and it makes it easier to walk around in his body. It's a habit he picked up when Brandon was in juvie. He needs it now, like a lifesaver. It keeps him from thinking about it too much. </p><p>Of course, the hangover's terrible. So he keeps drinking. It's a neverending cycle.</p><p>He turns down the hamburger because he thinks he might puke it. Brandon notices, of course. He notices the skipping school and the not showering, too.</p><p>Trevor jokes about it casually. It feels natural, like they've always been friends, like they always will be. Not like they've been apart for two months. Not like there's an unspeakable rift since that night. Because no matter how much Trevor thinks about it, it's like it never happened to Brandon. He never mentions, he never looks at Trevor the way he did that night, he never kisses him. It's unbearable. He needs to know. He needs to know if it was all fake. He needs. He needs.</p><p>He needs another sip.</p><p>"Shouldn't you stop?" Brandon asks, pulling the flask away.</p><p>Trevor snorts.</p><p>"Worry about me, B?"</p><p>Trevor scans his face, looking for any evidence that he does in fact worry. Brandon's expression is carefully blank before he breaks into a little laugh.</p><p>"No."</p><p>Trevor almost hears his heart shatter. Brandon really doesn't care about him anymore. Sadness turns into rage, he feels it grinding his teeth and clenching his fists. He has to ask.</p><p>"Do you ever think about that night? At all?"</p><p>Brandon fidgets with Trevor's lighter.</p><p>"Details are kinda hazy. Tequila's fault."</p><p>He means it as a joke, the carefully planned explanation they've come up with. Tequila's fault. It makes him boil.</p><p>"That's all I ask of you, asshole. Honesty. No fucking lies, no fucking excuses. Do you still think about it?"</p><p>Brandon blinks back, as if confused by Trevor's sudden anger.</p><p>"Why do you care so much?"</p><p>Trevor shakes his head in bewilderment. He probably looks insane. He'd kill for another sip, to ease the pain.</p><p>"I don't know, maybe 'cause I want to know if you care about me. If you care about us. Or if it's just a one-night-stand, never to speak of again. Only to use as leverage against me, because I don't want to be outed to the entire world!" He's so angry he feels calm. "All these things I did for you, I hurt Rowan, all of it was just meaningless cries for attention, your attention, but I guess you never cared. You still don't get it. I did it all. For you."</p><p>"Why?" almost cries out Brandon.</p><p>"Because I love you!"</p><p>The silence is deafening. His own words ring back in his ears. He and Brandon look equally distraught. </p><p>"All the time," Brandon answers, in such a low voice Trevor almost doesn't hear it. </p><p>"What?" He looks up, the tears swelling up in his eyes.</p><p>Brandon clears his throat.</p><p>"I think about it all the time."</p>
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